“You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?” “Who?” “Harry Potter!” Harry heard the little girl’s voice. “Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum, oh please. . . .” “You’ve already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn’t something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?” “Asked him. Saw his scar. It’s really there — like lightning.” “Poor dear — no wonder he was alone, I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get onto the platform.”
i would die for molly
